Laundrynaut (repost from October 2010)

Laundrynaut

 

Preface:

The day I turned 16 years old and I got the keys to my $100 wonder (it was a wonder that the thing ran at all).  The $100 wonder was a well used and worn out 1956 4 door Chevrolet Bellaire, also known as the “Green Apple”.  The “Green Apple” was aptly named for its verde hue of “GT Green” (also known as Goose Turd Green).  The Green Apple was my passport to an almost incurable case of wanderlust.  By the time I graduated high school, my best friend Roy Henslee and I camped all of east Texas, western Louisiana, and some of southern Arkansas.  There is nothing like a good road trip. 

 

 

I was talking to a couple of my young co-workers and the conversation reminded me of some of the odd things I have done in my past.  I asked my two (2) young co-workers “How many of us in this room are Laundrynauts?”  I found myself the only one in the room with his hand extended.  Not only were Andy and Coy not Laundrynauts but they actually had never heard the term.  I recounted a road trip to Deep East Texas not long after turning 16 years old.  We were camping in a Corp of Engineers park named Magnolia Ridge between Woodville and Jasper and just north of Town Bluff Texas.  The only reason that we were camping at Magnolia Ridge was that the State of Texas would not allow us to camp in Martin Dies State Park since we were all under 18 years of age.  It was no doubt a dull evening around the campfire when Roy begins to talk about becoming a Laundrynaut.  He had heard that if you make three (3) consecutive rounds in a commercial clothes dryer you get to attach Laundynaut to your personal list of accomplishments.  The reader must realize that man had not walked on the moon at this time.  On this particular road trip there were three (3) of us, Roy Henslee, Ricky Holmes, and myself.  Since Roy did not have this accomplishment attached to his resume the vote was unanimous.  We jumped into the Green Apple (aka 1956 4 door Chevy) and headed to town.  Calling the location that I became a Laundynaut a town would be a stretch of the truth.  Town in the case was several old and some abandon buildings on a farm to market road north of Town Bluff Texas.  One of operating buildings was a washateria.  The procedure for becoming an official Laundynaut was to climb into a commercial clothes dryer while your buddy stood outside with the door open (safety first) and held down door button simulating the door being shut.  Your buddy places a dime in the coin slot and turns the knob and activating the clothes dryer.  Ricky was first to “blast off”.  Ricky was the tallest of the group at around 6’-0” he went in to the dryer head first as Roy and I pushed his lower extremities into the dryer drum.  I am sure that Ricky had the very same look on his face that Chuck Yeager had when he nodded his head indicating ”ready” in the launch of the experimental rocket X-15.  Roy dropped the dime into the slot, turned the knob placing the dime into the cash box, and quickly pushed the button.  Ricky braced for take off quickly made a successful three (3) round orbit.  I was next up for the honors.  We removed the dizzy and disoriented Ricky and I climbed in with the help of my “buddies”.  Roy, not wanting to waste any of the prepaid dryer time, hastily pushed the launch button again.  The only problem with that was that I did not get a chance to give one of those Chuck Yeager / cowboy up  / I am ready nods.  I was just launched when I was not actually in the launch position resulting in me falling from the top of the drum to the bottom of the drum with each cycle just like wet laundry.  I successfully made the required three (3) rounds of orbit but was pretty beat up and bruised from falling in the drum as it rotated.  Falling and hitting the drum was not nearly as painful as those flat bars that help agitate the drying clothes. I exited the capsule a little on the mushy side but still proud of my accomplishment.  Roy, learning from previous launches, quickly entered the dryer drum and assumed the launch position, bracing himself between the dryer drum and flat bar agitators.  I reached for the launch button as quickly as possible to return the favor of an unprepared launch to Roy, but he was way to fast for me still whirling from my orbits.  Roy made his entry into the roles of Laundrynauts unscathed although by the time his fligt took place the capsule (dryer drum) was beginning to heat up. 

 

Epilogue:

This is just one of thousands of great (great?) memories of my past.  Imagine of having an evening of fun in town for just a dime.  Reflecting back a helmet would have been a nice addition. 

 

 

Wayne (Shifty) Mulloy, Physician, Lawyer, and TMCA “Bad Boy”

Admiral Hun, her step mother Jean, and I were in Galveston Texas on an Easter weekend boat cruise. We were participating in the Texas Mariners Cruising Association (TMCA) cruise to Moody Gardens Marina.  The social director of the cruise had made arrangements for the group to have dinner at Saltwater Grill on Post Office street in the Strand District.  The social director also had made arrangements for Moody Gardens to provide the dock to door and return transportation in one of their shuttle buses.  Donning white and pink Easter Bunny ears we embarked on an evening on the town.  

 

The group meal, which usually has a tendency to run long because of the size of the group, went exceptionally well this particular evening.  We found ourselves with additional time left before the Moody Gardens shuttle was scheduled to pick us up and return us to the marina.  The Admiral, Jean, Doc Mulloy, Monica Mulloy and myself found ourselves on the street with time to spare.  Doc suggested that we all go down to the Tremont House Hotel for a nightcap.  He said that he knew the piano player down there named Omar.  Doc boasted that he guaranteed that Omar, a talented musician would play the song “Three Coins In The Fountain” upon the sight of Doc.  Doc related to us that ever since he put a rather large gratuitous tip in Omar’s tip jar it was a sure bet that Omar would come through with the song as he had so many times before.  We all agreed on the idea of an after dinner drink and scurried down Post Office street and down three blocks like a covey of quail.  We arrived at the entrance of the grand hotel that was housed in a historic 1879 Victorian building, complete with a horse drawn tourist carriage out front.  The antique vehicle was the fancy type with a floral and garland decorated carriage, decorated horse, and oil burning lanterns on each corner, which are so common in the Strand District of Galveston. 

 

I held the entry door for the other revelers.  Being last in line gave me the opportunity to negotiate the few steps up into the grand foyer and admire the beautifully appointed foyer with fine furniture and detailed marble floor.  Just as Doc had predicted there was a piano straight ahead, but it was not Omar playing.  The scene seems almost surreal to me as I recall it.  The piano player was seated at the piano facing the entry door and a very attractive young lady, to his left, also faced the entryway. She was attempting to sing whatever tune it was he was playing, and an old man sitting in a single easy chair to the girls’ left intently listening to the slightly off key singing.  I caught up with the group just as Doc whispered, “That is George Mitchell over there, he owns the hotel”, looking at the old gentleman seated in the chair.  Doc continued to look back over his shoulder as he walked toward the lobby bar located on the left side of the foyer.  I gave Doc my typical disbelieving “Yeah right” response.  All facts being known, George and wife Cynthia Woods Mitchell own about half the buildings in the Historic Strand District.  Doc has been known to stretch the truth on occasion and all the more reason for my scoff, indicating my disbelief. 

 

The five of us arrived at the lobby bar just about the same time and gathered like a heard of cattle at the water trough anticipating a quenching drink. The bartender was a white haired, rather distinct looking older gentleman dressed in a tuxedo.  Doc caught me by surprise when he struck up a conversation with the bartender and made some reference about the formally dressed employee being Irish.  Damn, if Doc was not right.  They struck up a short conversation about their ethnic backgrounds, and I think Doc even finished the conversation with some Irish saying.  The bartender took our drink orders and began to walk away just as Doc kibitzed “ I would pay that girl over there $100 just to stop singing”.  The bartender stopped mid stride and turned on his right heel and spun around facing his newly acquainted countryman.  “I would not do that if I were you, sir” he quietly cautioned. “That’s George Mitchell’s granddaughter singing, and that is George Mitchell sitting in the chair”.  He did not have to tell us who George Mitchell was, because if you are a Texan from these parts you know who that is.  This caution was just enough to ignite the “bad boy” in Doc.  Doc got up from his bar stool just as the serenading Granddaughter finished the tune.  He began to praise her and ask who she was and where she was from. Before she could even respond he was requesting that everyone in our party have their picture taken with her because he was sure that she would be famous and Hollywood bound.  The twenty something young lady was overcome with joy that someone outside of the family would take notice of her singing ability.  Several pre-success pictures were taken of the young woman as her smiling Grandfather looked on. 

 

Doc has another link to the Tremont House Hotel besides Omar the piano player and the song “Three Coins in the Fountain”

 

 Doc tells me that the bar in the Tremont used to be in 7th Street Tavern where all the medical students went to drink Pearl beer after tests every Friday. A lady named Judy owned 7th Street Tavern and she helped float the medical students through school by actually loaning them money.  He tells me that he would write a check and she would ask –“Shifty (aka Wayne Mulloy), do you want it in the cash register or on the mirror”. He would say “On the Mirror” and she would stick the check on the mirror; and give him the cash.   At the end of the month after working some side jobs, he would come in and say Judy give me that check off the mirror, and he would hand her the cash.  Then Saturday evening he would go back and start studying.  “What a way to go”, Doc says.   Doc said that he owed a debt of gratitude to Judy.  The mirror that held his checks is the same mirror at the Tremont House bar today. 

 

Dr. Wayne Mulloy is the man that saved my life in 2004.  I attribute his availability to me, and quick diagnosis of my health that has extended my time here on earth.  

In conclusion I would like to pass on Doc’s typical salutation,  “Happy Trails, Never Call Retreat”